


late nights....

by nyapoleon_cake



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: College AU, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Modern AU, Parkour AU(??), i lov these boys, theyre v gay, unbeta’d
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 16:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyapoleon_cake/pseuds/nyapoleon_cake
Summary: some napastel, in which the short one is cheeky and the quiet one is not quite sure why he still hangs around this guy.modern (college) au, almost a parkour au?? sort of??





	late nights....

**Author's Note:**

> eyy it’s ya boi sam, throwing some garbage out here to get this shitshow kicked off lmao  
> food fantasy has devoured my time and money and life, and naturally so have these good good boys. i lov them v much and thought the ff tag could use more of them, even if theyre like 200% ooc because i wrote this at two in the morning haha  
> unbetad as always, we die like men here boys.

_Tap. Tap tap._

 

_Tap tap._

 

 

**_Thump_.**

“Oh my _god,”_ Pastel whispered to himself, burying his face in his hands. He couldn’t fucking believe this. A part of him wanted to keep ignoring the noises at his window. It was too late for this shit, the brunet thought to himself, hunched over his desk in his room. He hadn’t been keeping tabs on the time. He didn’t need to. All he knew was that he had to get this book report done by eight, and judging by the way his body was beginning to sag under the weight of his exhaustion, it was pretty damn late.

“Psst. Hey. _Pastel.”_ The voice was muffled by the glass of his window, and Pastel had the sudden urge to turn off his desk lamp and go to bed. He’d take a late grade if it would spare him from the sheer idiocy he was about to face. “Open the window.”

“Open the window _yourself, you dumbass,”_ Pastel hissed, whipping around in his chair and sending the most menacing glare he could muster toward the shaded figure outside of his _third-story apartment,_ what the _fuck, Napoleon?_ “It locks from the inside,” Napoleon whined softly, crouched down like Spider-Man on the windowsill. Pastel still had no idea how he even managed to actually pull off stuff like this- even before college, when they’d first met in high school, Pastel couldn’t remember a time where Napoleon hadn’t had an interest in scaling just about every building ever built. He was always babbling on about his love for heights and the incredible feeling it gave him whenever he had the opportunity to show off his skills. Pastel had never understood it- how Napoleon willingly risked his safety just to feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He wasn’t ever going to feel comfortable with Napoleon so casually flirting with danger, but at times like this he almost wished that the brunet would slip just enough to teach him a valuable lesson.

With a resigned huff Pastel pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the gleeful grin on Napoleon’s face as he trudged to the window and unlatched it. Before either of them could speak the shorter man had pushed the panel open, slipping inside and tucking up into a somersault to land inside near silently. Pastel just sighed.

“What the hell are you doing here, Napoleon?” He grumbled, not bothering to latch the window shut behind him. Knowing Napoleon, he’d be going out the same window. Sometimes Pastel just wished that he’d use the fucking _door_ every once in a while.

Napoleon just smiled, standing and brushing himself off. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Pastel registered that Napoleon was still in his pajamas, and damn it all he hated how that thought did things to him. “I knew you’d still be up. And before you start complaining, if I had used the front door I would’ve been caught after curfew.” The shorter hummed, crossing his arms and tilting his chin up to lock eyes with Pastel. The Portuguese held his gaze for all of two seconds before sighing and rubbing at his eyes, his exhaustion wearing at him. “What do you want from me?” He muttered, moving over to his bed and sitting down. Napoleon’s grin faded just slightly, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

“I want you to _sleep_ , Nata,” He murmured, clicking Pastel’s desk lamp off. “It’s not healthy for you to be up so late.” Pastel gave a dry snort at that, eyeing Napoleon from across the room. “Then we’re in the same boat,” he argued, “and by extension I’m pretty sure that scaling three fucking stories at three in the morning equates to more than finishing a book report.”

Napoleon stuck his tongue out at Pastel, silent as he sat himself down beside the taller of the two. It stayed quiet for a moment, the only noises penetrating the silence being the crickets chirping outside and a soft breeze rustling the papers on Pastel’s desk. “I know how much you’ve been beating yourself up about this report.” Napoleon murmured, looking up at Pastel with his dumb tousled hair and stupid brown eyes and goddamn it Pastel had never wanted to kiss him more than he did right now.

“I can’t take another late grade, Napoleon,” He murmured, forcing himself to look away. The last thing he wanted to do was to confess to Napoleon here, at the least romantic place in the world (arguably, he supposed, but still pretty unromantic). Napoleon rolled his eyes, legs swinging off the edge of the bed, calves bumping against the bedframe softly every few seconds. “Sure you can. You don’t have to have a perfect grade in every class, _mon chéri_ , perfection is impossible. Let yourself rest.”

Pastel always got uncomfortable when Napoleon went serious. The brunet was always so easygoing- a free soul, he called himself, always cheerful. But he wasn’t ignorant by any means, and he was (surprisingly) mature enough to realize that there were times that his aloofness wasn’t going to help the situation. Serious Napoleon wasn’t what he was used to, and as a result, that was just about the only way that Napoleon could really get Pastel to listen to him.

“Fine.” Pastel murmured, blinking slowly. The more he thought about it the more his exhaustion nagged at his conscious. Maybe Napoleon was right. He’d been dogged down with work for the past two weeks, and in between juggling his two jobs plus college he’d hardly found time to truly rest. Napoleon, the ever-observant fool that he was, had noticed this- and Pastel honestly should’ve known that he would pull some sort of scheme like this sooner or later.

At some point Napoleon had gently pushed him down onto his back, Pastel too worn out to fight back. It was quiet in the room, Napoleon humming to himself as he helped Pastel wiggle out of his shirt (absolutely not staring at his abs for a hot minute or so, that would be ridiculous) and into some more comfortable sleep-clothes. “Under the covers, _amour,_ just a bit longer.” Napoleon murmured, gently nudging Pastel under the blankets. Pastel mumbled back some garbled response in Portuguese, Napoleon only chuckling softly and heading to the window. He'd stayed long enough.

“...... Where are you going?”

The shorter of the two went still as the question hung in the air, a sudden pause encompassing the room.

“Y’ should stay. Won't you?”

What? Napoleon blinked a few times, caught a bit off-guard at the query. Pastel had never asked him to stay before, and Napoleon had respected that- there was a very pronounced personal space boundary that Pastel displayed to those around him, and while Napoleon had tested the limits a few times, he'd always respected Pastel’s comfort.

“You must be very, _very_ tired, Nata,” Napoleon giggled softly a moment later, trying to brush off his surprise. No use in getting sentimental now or he might miss his chance. The latch on the window clicked shut easily, Napoleon turning around and grinning cheekily at a sleepy Pastel who had somehow ended up hanging almost completely off the bed. “Scoot over, then.”

Pastel hummed and moved to make space, sprawling out on his back as Napoleon slid beneath the covers beside him. Oh well- His phone would probably be blowing up a few hours from now with texts from worried roommate Brownie, but this was worth it. The brunet let out a soft sigh, one arm snaking around Pastel’s waist sneakily. If the taller noticed he didn't say anything about it, much to Napoleon’s satisfaction.

 _“Bonne nuit, mon coeur,”_ Napoleon whispered, head resting comfortably on Pastel’s chest as the night led them both to rest.

**Author's Note:**

> lmaO I TOLD U IT WAS GARBO   
> can u spot the exact moment sam threw in the towel..... i can  
> anyWAY hopefully i should have some more ff stuff on the way, probs more napastel and some bb52 because i ADORE those boys as well and it would be treason not to write for them.   
> thank u sm for reading and have a great day!! <3


End file.
